


A Soldier's Chorus

by 50mgSunshine



Series: Hamilton Sense8 AU [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Sense8 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 14:13:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13101879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/50mgSunshine/pseuds/50mgSunshine
Summary: Twenty three killed, five hundred injured, countless more affected in ways as of yet intangible.When the unthinkable happens, sometimes all you can do is sit back and wait for it to be over, for the shakes to stop, and for the aftermath to turn into healing, and eventually, rebuilding.In the meantime though, it can help to have a few friends around.-----------------------------------------MAJOR trigger warnings for anything related to the Manchester bombing in May 2017. This is a part of my Hamilton Sense8 AU, and whilst you don't to have read that fic to understand this, it'll help if you're familiar with the source material as it is not explained in this fic.





	A Soldier's Chorus

**Author's Note:**

> MAJOR trigger warnings for anything related to the Manchester bombing in May. This is a part of my Hamilton Sense8 AU, and whilst you don't to have read that fic to understand this, it'll help if you're familiar with the cannon material as it is not explained in this fic. 
> 
> You DO NOT have to read this fic to understand 'Only a Moment Away', and it is unlikely that the events of this fic will be touched upon in OMA. This kind of... exists on it's own I guess? I wanted to continue writing my other one, but due to the nature of Theodosia's job & location in OMA, I felt like I needed to get this out of the way first? In a sense? (ha, sense, sense8, I'm so punny). For anyone following my other fic (I mean, there were a few people, but I won't flatter myself =P), I'll explain why I kind of... abandoned it for a little bit in the notes at the end.
> 
> Enjoy, I guess? I mean.... it's not really a fic for enjoying to be honest...

Shit.  _ Shit shit shit shit- _

 

Theo scrubs her hands, scrubs them hard, but it’s still there. Still lingering, seeping into her pores. She wonders if this means that it’s  _ in  _ her now, in her veins, pumping along like the rest of her cells. 

 

_ God,  _ this whole thing….

 

Theo’s seen some shit, because in her line of work, who hasn’t? She’s seen women beaten half to death by their husbands, pensioners who’ve been lying dead in their homes for upwards of three weeks, teenagers shot and stabbed and pummeled and left for dead, worse, even, but  _ this? _

 

She’s not sure why it’s so much worse, why she can’t get the stench of blood and the sound of screaming out of her head this time round. She’s seen people get hurt in ways that are, objectively, far worse. Seen deeds committed by people viler and crueler than any pathetic little bomber could ever hope to be. She remembers one particular callout, to a house by a little boy - his mum was lying, dead, on the floor in front of him. The boyfriend had done it, hadn’t even been drunk, he’d sat the kid down with a bowl of cheerios afterwards and told him his mum was just tired and he should take himself to bed. The kid had phoned an ambulance, but  _ jesus…. _

 

Maybe it’s the sheer scale of the thing. The upper limit on most things is three, maybe four people affected personally, sometimes there’s more witnesses, but this time? The injured had just kept coming and coming and-

 

Theo catches sight of herself in the mirror. Towels wrapped around her body and her hair, eyes ringed purple, cast into harsh relief by the white energy-saving-lightbulbs in the room. She looks… like a stranger. There’s a difference, between the woman who’d put on the water proof mascara still clinging to her lashes that morning and the woman looking back at her now. The problem, she thinks, is which one is really her? 

 

Which one does she  _ want  _ to be her?

 

The one who thought she’d seen it all, who was jaded beyond belief but about  _ reasonable  _ things, things you’re  _ supposed  _ to be cynical about, or was it the other one? The one who still has children's’ blood seeping into her skin (like Lady Macbeth - you can wash and wash but it ain’t coming off), the one who would never again be able to go to a concert and feel safe, the one who would always feel a little chill whenever she drove past the MEN arena. God - that’s where she’d seen her  _ own  _ first concert, she’d been as young as some of those girls. Oasis - they’d been amazing. She remembers them playing ‘ _ Don’t Look Back In Anger’,  _ remembers thinking that not even the Gallagher brothers could tell Theodosia-fucking-Bartrow what to do.

 

She’d been a weird kid.

 

The lyrics are… something of a comfort now though. She sighs, sits on the rim of her bathtub, bare feet crushed into the somewhat-damp bathmat as she rests her chin in her hands, her elbows on her knees. Softly, she starts to hum. Just the first couple of bars - and then - a voice that isn’t hers.

 

_ Slip inside, the eye of your mind, _

_ Don’t you know you might find,  _

_ A better place to play. _

 

It’s Eliza, because of course it is - the girl can’t hear half a chord without snapping to attention like a lost puppy. Her voice is soft, floods over Theo’s seared edges like a balm. She looks like an angel, dark hair framing her face, her warm, kind eyes, as if she alone could project enough light to drown out the darkness of the whole world.

 

And then, there’s someone else. Another voice for the rest of the verse.

 

_ You said that you’d never been, _

_ But all the things that you’ve seen, _

_ Will slowly fade away, _

 

Maria. Hair perfect, makeup perfect, body perfect, here because wherever Eliza goes she’s never far behind. Here because if anyone knows what they’re talking about when it comes to pain, to trauma, it’s Maria Lewis. Here, because she knows there’s not much more she can do. They both take Theo’s hands, Maria one side, Eliza the other. Both just… singing.

 

_ So i start a revolution from my bed, _

_ Cause the brains I had went to my head, _

 

This time it’s Alex, he sits on the floor in front of her - eyes wide and expressive because that’s all they know how to be. He lifts her feet off the damp, cold floor and sets them in his lap, warm. He’s singing too. He’s terrible, but it doesn’t matter, because it lifts her heart a little bit more.

 

_ Step outside, Summertime’s in bloom. _

 

John’s curly hair rests on her damp shoulder. He’s behind her, sitting in the tub which is a little weird, a little like him.

 

_ Stand up beside the fireplace, _

_ Take that look from off your face, _

 

Laf, fiercely defiant, fiercely there. They’re in the tub with John, resting a hand on her arm. 

 

_ You ain’t ever gonna burn my heart out _

 

Thomas looks just as wrecked as she is. He’s up late like she is. She knows him, he’ll have been up with James and Angelica, watching the coverage on ITV probably, not quite believing…

 

She wouldn’t have believed it either, but she’s seen it. It’s too awful not to believe.

 

And then they’re at the chorus, and it’s Theo’s  _ song,  _ she can’t just not join in.

 

_ And so, Sally can wait,  _

_ she knows it’s too late as we’re walking on by, _

 

Jesus fucking christ, she’s crying now. Hot wet drops splashing on her knees. After what she’d seen, she thought she’d never be able to cry again, she’d been too numb to  do  _ anything. _

 

Her shoulders start to shake, and Eliza wraps her arms around her, pulling her close and tight and warm.

 

_ Her soul slips away, _

_ But don’t look back in anger, I heard you say. _

_ Don’t look back in anger _

_ I heard you say. _

 

Later, the others filter out, one by one. Laf leaves first, closely accompanied by John. Maria pecks her and Eliza on the cheek and then fades away slowly with an offer to talk anytime she needs it. Alex gives her a look that says  _ he knows  _ because jesus, if anyone knows what it’s like for your home to not feel safe anymore it’s him. Eliza’s next. She helps get Theo to bed, helps her get into her pyjamas and makes her a hot cup of tea. She leaves reluctantly. And then, she’s alone with Thomas. He climbs into bed with her and holds her hand, because it’s  _ them  _ that this is close to. Their home that’s been compromised, that probably has more of this shit coming in the following weeks.

 

He goes too, eventually. He has to be with Ange and James. She understands, but it leaves her alone.

 

At least, until…

 

She sees his smile before she really sees him, because that’s the way it’s always been. It’s soft this time though, understanding, which honestly, had never really been words she’d have used to describe Aaron before. Of course, she’d known he was  _ capable _ , but it’s easy to forget the little things when your world is caught up in the excited frenzy of passion and romance that marks the start of any relationship.

 

But here he is. Soft,  _ hers. _

 

He doesn’t say anything, and whether it’s because of the whole psychic thing, or something else entirely, she knows it’s because he doesn’t know  _ what  _ to say.

 

Her throat catches, wells up and brings her to the brink of tears once more, she wants to speak, to tell him it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t know what to to say, it doesn’t matter if he’s not perfect, or if he doesn’t have all the shit in his head sorted out just yet. None of it matters because he’s  _ here _ , he’s with her, and- 

 

“I know,” he says, and then he holds her hand, doesn’t ask for anything more. He just… holds her hand, right up until she falls asleep, and finally the day is over.

**Author's Note:**

> So... yeah.
> 
> Long story short, I live pretty close to Manchester, and as such, I knew quite a lot of people who got caught up in the MEN arena bombings last May, which... kinda sucked. At the time, I didn't feel like I could really move forward with OMA until I'd written something like this. So... I wrote this, or at least the first part of it. In a way, it was my way of processing what had happened, of the things that someone had done to the people involved, to my friends. 
> 
> But then I never posted it, and other stuff (exams, and then personal difficulties, and then starting university, and then MORE personal difficulties), made writing OMA really difficult. 
> 
> But then, things got a little better, and I started to feel like I wanted write again, and more specifically, like I wanted to write OMA again. But then I remembered this. And... I don't know. It felt weird not posting it before I continued to write OMA. I don't know, like it was part of a process that I needed to acknowledge before I could move on with the main story. A ghost I needed to exorcise, perhaps. 
> 
> To be honest, I don't really know what this is. But it's here now, take it or leave it. At some point in the next week or two, I aim to post another chapter of OMA, so, err, see you then, perhaps?
> 
> Happy Holidays!


End file.
